Seen from the hilltop, the little village was beautiful to behold. Its few houses, all half-way up the hill, were built of a yellowish stone, over which grape-vines were climbing. Some of the houses were roofed with red tiles; others had thatched roofs, on which were growing every sort of beautiful green and velvety moss, mingled with tufts of wall-flowers in bloom; while all this rustic picture was framed in great groups of plantains, live-oaks, and Lombardy poplars, from the midst of which rose the modest church tower of gray stone. I descended by a steep, winding path, and very soon arrived in the little village square. On the left, I saw the gate of the cemetery; on the right was the church porch, and noticing very near the latter a house rather larger than the rest, and which only differed from them by its remarkable cleanliness, I decided that it must be the presbytery. I got off my horse and knocked. I had not been mistaken. A woman, clothed in black, still young, but horribly misshapen, and very ugly, whose face, however, appeared to have an expression of extreme goodness, came to open the door for me. She asked, in a very pronounced Southern accent, what I wished. "I have come, madame," said I, "to see the country place that is for sale in the village. M. V----, the notary, sent me to see M. le curé, who, he tells me, has the property for sale." "My brother will be back in an instant," replied the woman, with a sigh, "and if you would like to rest while waiting for his return, be pleased to follow me into the presbytery." I accepted her offer, and, leaving my guide and his horses, I entered the house. Nothing could have been more simple, more cleanly, more barren, than the interior of this humble home; notwithstanding which one could not help noticing traces of thoughtful solicitude for the comfort of the master. I accompanied the curé's sister into a low hall, whose two white-curtained windows opened on a pretty little green garden. The simple furniture of this room shone with cleanliness; a single armchair, covered with old embroidery, placed near a little table, on which stood a book-rack made of black wood, and an ivory crucifix, seemed to be the habitual seat of the priest. His sister's chair and her spinning-wheel stood near the other window. She seated herself, and began to spin, without vouchsafing a word. Believing her to be silent out of reserve, or from shyness, and wishing, besides, to satisfy my curiosity which the guide had so roused, I asked the woman if the place had been for sale a long time. The priest's sister answered me, with another sigh: "It has been for sale for the last three months, monsieur." "But, madame, do not the owners live in it any longer?"